


Nobody Can Spare Any Love

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Series: Six Day Hurricane: A Collection [3]
Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: Moving to New York the second they left high school seemed like a good idea at the time but now it’s two years later and Moritz and Martha are about to run out of their savings. With Moritz grappling with the idea of moving back home to his abusive family, his friends are desperate to help him find a job and prove to him that he needs to stay.





	Nobody Can Spare Any Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldengalaxyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldengalaxyboy/gifts).



> Hello everyone!!! Hoo boy, this fic has taken me months. I actually started writing it before I started on One Flower Short and yet that one was finished first so here we are. This is actually my longest one of these one shots and the longest one I've written for this fandom. In fact, is almost my longest Ever so I'm glad you all get to finally read it!
> 
> A few disclaimers, I suppose, I'm not actually a Theater Person, just an enthusiast so some of the details in this may be wrong but I tried my best to make it seem real (big thank you to Wyatt who's an actual Theater Person and helped me out with that). This one is a Sarasota Someone AU and while it's still not all that close to the song, it's definitely closer than the others I've written in this series. Anyways, that's enough from me. I hope you like it!

Moving to New York City the second they graduated high school sounded like a good idea at the time. Both Moritz and Martha needed to get away from their families and there was so much for them there. There were so many opportunities that they wouldn't have in their hometown, and they already had a friend there. Ilse has been in New York for a year already, and had somehow managed to get a job there. It was practically unprecedented but it filled them with hope. The two of them thought that they had their whole lives planned out.

 

Now, it was two years later. Martha was waitressing her way through college, exhausted pretty much all the time and having to support the two of them, because Moritz could never seem to keep a job. Whenever he managed to have a successful audition phase which actually lead to him being cast in a role, he was always dropped eventually. He seemed to annoy every director he'd tried to work with, never being able to remember his lines quick enough for their standards, his ADHD making it hard for him to focus. And he hated himself for it. He saw how much Martha struggled. Their savings were running low and he knew that soon they'd have to rely solely on her wage. It wasn't enough to keep the two of them afloat. So Moritz found himself in an incredibly difficult position, deciding whether or not he should move back home. Martha despised the idea. She insisted that he stay, said that she'd pick up another job if she had to. She'd put college on hold for a year until they had more money behind them. Moritz didn't want to put her through anymore than he already did. Even if the thought of going home sucked the life out of him, he was starting to seriously consider it.

 

"So, it's a money problem?" Ilse asked. The two of them were aimlessly wandering the busy streets on her lunch break after stopping but her favourite coffee shop (which she'd insisted on paying for). There were people all around them, making their way in every possible direction. All that could really be heard were the sounds of the road rage driven traffic and other people talking.

 

"Yeah," he agreed, trying to will himself to keep calm amongst all the people. Even after two years, Moritz still found himself to be claustrophobic in the city. "I can't hold a job, not that I'd get paid much if I did."

 

"If you don't struggle for your art then is it really worth it?" she teased, trying to cheer him up.

 

Moritz cracked a smile at that. "I thought I'd done enough suffering back home."

 

Ilse looked over at him, worried. "Moritz, you can't go back there. I won't let you."

 

"I'm running out of choices," he replied, "and chances and I really can't burden Martha like this."

 

"God, Moritz you've never been a burden. Is that how you see yourself? You're Martha's family. She'd do anything for you."

 

"She mentioned putting college on hold and picking up another job. I can't let her do that. She loves her classes," he reminded.

 

"She'd rather die than lose you, you know that."

 

Moritz looked away from her, towards the sky instead and just hoped for moment. "I know," he muttered, his voice slightly choked. "I’d do the same for her."

 

"Let me do some digging," Ilse said, placing her hand on his shoulder to help reassure him. "Don't leave yet. Don't even plan on leaving yet. I'll think of something. I'll find you a job, Moritz. I'm sure I know someone that can help. If not then I'll ask Ernst, he's bound to know someone."

 

Moritz nodded, dropping his coffee cup into a nearby bin and shoving his hands in his pockets. "We've got enough left for two weeks. After that, I'm out of here."

 

He could tell that she was already spinning through the dozens of names in her head. People that she'd meant at parties and art gallery openings and plays and she just had to know someone. She had to. 

 

"I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Two weeks is more than enough time."

 

Moritz just hoped she was right.

 

  
***

  
  
The small apartment was entirely silent when Moritz got home. Martha was on nightshift that week and while it was only to help cover for another coworker she'd been continually regretting the decision. Moritz had always hated silence so when there was a knock at the door he was almost grateful for it. On the other side was an significantly distressed Ernst. There was paint still in his hair, which obviously meant that he'd been at the studio before this. Moritz's mind instantly went to the worst case scenario: _Hanschen broke up with him which means I have to track him down and kill him but it'll be worth it_.

 

"You're not leaving!" Ernst declared, eyes boring into his.

 

Well, he hadn't expected that. "I -"

 

He was cut off by Ernst practically flinging himself at him. Moritz didn't ever hug people, Ernst was an exception to that. Ernst and Martha were the only exception.

 

"You're not leaving. I'm not going to let you. You can't go back there, Moritz. You're staying here with Martha and me and Ilse. Hanschen can get you that bartending job and you can have an income and I'm not letting you leave." It all came out in a very desperate rush, partially muffled halfway through because Ernst buried his head against Moritz's shoulder to stop tears from escaping.

 

Moritz wasn't entirely sure what to do. He didn't realise that Ernst would be so upset by the idea of him leaving. He hadn't even mentioned it to him which must have meant that he'd talked to Ilse in the last few hours. "You know I’d be a shitty bartender," he muttered, patting Ernst on the back awkwardly in the hopes that it would help him calm down.

 

Ernst pulled away, looking up at him, exasperated. "You're an actor," he said, "just act like a good bartender, you fool."

 

It was probably one of the most ridiculous things that Ernst had ever said but he was staring at him with such ferocious intent that Moritz found himself nodding anyway. "Ilse said she'd try and find me an acting job. Let's try that first."

 

"Ok fine," he shrugged, making his way into the apartment and flopping down on the couch. "Does your tv still work?"

 

"Fortunately," Moritz muttered, closing the front door carefully and turning to his friend. "Who knows how long that's gonna last."

 

"Well we better finish this Sense8 marathon before that happens."

  
  
***

  
  
Ilse had never been more focused on something in her entire life. She thought that she'd been focused during her senior year of high school, needing to get out of high school as soon as possible so she could head to New York and wait for her friends to join her. She thought that she'd been focused when she got to New York and fought her way into a decent job. None of that compared to this. If Moritz had to go home again it would be a disaster. He'd have to move back in with his parents, and a father who’d abused him every other day until he got on the plane to New York. She couldn't let that happen to him again. She absolutely refused to let that happen again.

 

As someone who worked in an industry that allowed her to socialise with just about every type of person imaginable, Ilse had managed to build up an impressive list of contacts. She was sure that at least one of them would be able to help her, even if they just led her to someone else. She knew that she could do this.

 

  
***

  
  
Even though Moritz wanted to have the utmost faith in Ilse - and in every other situation he would have - he couldn't bring himself to do so this time. He started slowly packing away his things and tried to think of what he'd tell his parents when he showed up on their doorstep again in a few weeks. He avoided thinking about his father's reaction, not quite sure if he'd manage to survive it. He'd been doomed to be a failure his whole life. Choosing acting as a career path only heightened that. He'd subjected himself to a life of struggle.

  
  
***

  
  
Ilse spent a good few days going through her extensive contact list between her shifts. She made phone calls and went to bars, clubs and theatres to talk to every single person that she thought could help. And yet, all of them fell through. She needed something solid with someone that she could trust. She needed someone with a hell of a lot of patience and a willingness to give Moritz the time it took him to learn his lines. Yes, it took him forever but once he finally got them he was amazing. She needed someone who would be able to see that, to see how great this would be in the long run. It almost felt weird putting it like this, but she needed someone who was ready for an investment. Ilse had no one idea why it was taking her so long to find someone.

 

There were a lot of great people in New York, a lot of talented people, and yet none of them were right for this. Days ticked by and as her deadline came closer and closer she felt hope start to slip through her fingers. She knew that Moritz had started packing, even with her insisting that he didn’t need to, Martha had called her in a panic a few nights before. She’d been worried that he was just going to take everything and leave in the middle of the night without saying goodbye, but that wasn’t Moritz. He wouldn’t do that to her.

 

***

 

Moritz wasn’t entirely sure why he’d agreed to this, but Ilse could truly be persuasive when she wanted to be. The bar seemed to get warmer every time he came by, the smell of alcohol hitting him the second he entered and he wondered briefly if getting second-hand drunk was a thing like second-hand smoke was. Martha had her arm linked through his and that seemed to help keep him grounded, and distracted from the fact that there were far too many people in here for his liking. She muttered something about him needing a distraction, and maybe something about falling in love with New York again so that he wouldn’t leave, but he couldn’t quite hear her, and she knew that he’d always been in love with New York anyway. He looked around, trying to spot Ilse amongst the gigantic amount of people. It was probably a good sign that there were so many people in here, even if it meant his chest felt tight, because this was Hanschen’s bar and if there were this many people then that must have meant he was doing a good job. He remembered Ernst saying something a few weeks ago about how since the bar was making such a large amount of profit, the wages here were almost insane. Maybe he should have just faked his way through bartending anyway.

 

Martha spotted her first, waving and quickly leading Moritz in Ilse’s direction. She’d managed to grab a table, which was always some kind of feat in this place, so it was in all of their interests for them to head straight over so they didn’t lose it.

 

“You made it!” Ilse called to the two of them over the music, beaming.

 

“This one needs to get out of the apartment more,” Martha smirked, nudging Moritz gently with her elbow.

 

“You’re not wrong,” she laughed as Moritz just rolled his eyes in response.

 

“How about we make a pact?” Martha offered. “No talk about work or anything like that. Tonight is just about us.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Ilse smiled, holding her glass up for a moment. It then occurred to her that the two of them hadn’t gotten their drinks yet. “Oh hang on, we can’t do a toast if only one of us has a drink.”

 

“I’ll get them,” Martha shrugged, quickly standing. “Your usual?” she asked Moritz.

 

“Anything alcoholic is fine,” he shrugged.

 

“I’ll get Hanschen to make you something,” she smirked, before quickly heading off in the direction of the bar.

 

Ilse practically pounced forward, taking Moritz’s hands in hers easily. “How are you doing?” she asked, voice much quieter now, almost drowned out by the music, and the concern was so prominent on her fact that it made Moritz feel almost sick. Everyone was always so worried about him, he wished that he could cause less of it.

 

He shrugged and squeezed her hands, trying to reassure her even though both of them knew that wasn’t really an option. “Most of my stuff is packed,” he said.

 

“Moritz-”

 

“It’s ok, Ilse,” he tried to smile at her. “Really.”

 

“I’ll find something.”

 

“Don’t strain yourself.”

 

“Nawww, am I interrupting a romantic moment?” Martha teased, placing two drinks down of the table and sliding one in front of Moritz before taking her seat.

 

Ilse sat back in her chair again, laughing while Moritz stared down at the drink. He couldn’t quite tell what it was. He didn’t really drink all that much to begin with, but he knew he’d need at least two more of them, since he was trying to just transcend existence for the night.

 

***

 

Moritz had no idea how much time was passing, they could have been there all night at this point and he wouldn’t even know the difference. The three of them managed to keep hold of their table. Moritz had at least two more of whatever the hell Hanschen was pouring for him. He still had no idea what was in the drink and at this point he didn’t care to ask. All of the sadness that had been encompassing him for the past few months was slowly fading into a blissful sense of numbness, and while part of Moritz wanted to be concerned at that, most of him really didn’t want to care. He just wanted everything to go away for a while. He had his two best friends with him, they were talking about everything under the sun (except for work, or their lack thereof) and it almost felt like they were back in high school again. Moritz genuinely felt like he was somehow peaceful and that nothing could pop his little bubble of euphoria at the moment.

 

“Ilse Neumann?”

 

All three of them looked up at the boy who spoke. Moritz had never seen him in his life, and he could tell by the confusion on her face that Martha didn’t either. He shouldn’t have been surprised really. Ilse knew a lot of people in New York. She had contacts all over. It came with being in a job that always involved collaboration and from going to as many events that she did. The boy was attractive, that much Moritz could tell, even under the haze of the alcohol he’d consumed. He was beaming down at Ilse, not a single atom in him that wasn’t delighted to see her.

 

“Melchior Gabor!” Ilse realised, jumping out of her seat and pulling the boy into a hug.

 

He hugged her back, laughing and picking her off the ground, spinning her in a circle before placing her back on the ground. Ilse had never let anyone hug her like that before. She must have really liked this guy.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away from him.

 

“I’m back in New York for a few months. Working on something over here,” he shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

 

“One of my friends owns this bar,” she explained.

 

“Wait. You know Hanschen?”

 

“Appears we all do,” she smirked.

 

Melchior laughed, then his eyes flicked to Martha and Moritz and quickly took a step back. “Oh, sorry. I’m interrupting,” he muttered.

 

Ilse rolled her eyes at him. “Oh shut up, you can join us.”

 

Moritz wasn’t sure why he so grateful that Ilse was sitting across from him and not this random guy that he’d never met. He was far too drunk to worry about pretty boys tonight.

 

“This is Martha and Moritz,” Ilse introduced. “I don’t think you guys have ever met Melchior.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Martha mused.

 

Moritz just shook his head.

 

“We used to work together when I first moved her,” she continued. “But he doesn’t know how to text so we keep losing touch.”

 

Melchior looked at her, obviously amused by that. “I didn’t have a phone for a really long time,” he defended. “Which reminds me.” He shuffled in his pockets for a moment, pulling out an iPhone and sliding it over to Ilse.

 

“Ooh a smartphone, look at you,” she teased, somehow managing to know the passcode and saving her number.

 

“Need it for business calls,” he shrugged.

 

“Business calls? Who are you and what have you done with the Melchior Gabor I know and love,” she teased, sliding his phone back and nudging his shoulder gently.

 

‘Well, I mean -”

 

“Don’t be cocky. You have to tell me everything you’ve been up to since you left.”

 

***

 

Moritz hadn’t really heard much of whatever Melchior had been saying for the last … however long it had been. Mostly he’d been distracted by his face, in particular his smile, which wasn’t fair at all and Moritz was slowly starting to hate himself again because of it. Tonight was supposed to be about forgetting, about zoning out and not needing to focus on anything, but he should have known it would turn into something else. Not that he could really blame Melchior for that, it was impossible to blame him simply for existing, but for some reason Moritz just really wished that he hadn’t showed up. Not tonight at least.

 

At least there was solace in the fact that Martha and Ilse were still with him. He’d never really been good at meeting people, but it was much easier in a group setting. Melchior could talk to the girls and Moritz could stay quiet and not have to input much into the conversation. They seemed to be doing well enough on their own anyway. That was, at least, until the girls left to go to the bathroom (because they both had a rule that no one was to go alone, especially in bars and clubs) and Moritz was left alone with Melchior.

 

It probably would have been fine if there wasn’t so much noise around them, because now Moritz felt like he needed to force some kind of conversation so that this wasn’t awkward. Maybe he shouldn’t have cared about feeling awkward around this stranger, but he was one of Ilse’s friends, and Moritz really wanted to put some effort in for that. He hesitated, not quite knowing what to say, and watched as Melchior pulled absently at the sleeves of his denim jacket. Moritz had no idea why he was wearing a jacket, since it was about a million degrees in here, but it was almost like Melchior was nervous, and Moritz could relate to that.

 

“So, you know Hanschen?” he asked, because that was the only part of the conversation that he could remember.

 

Melchior looked up at him. He had really nice eyes and now that Moritz had noticed it he’d never be able to un-notice it. Dammit. “Yeah, we went to highschool together,” he answered, shrugging. “He hated me, actually. Probably still does. We were always kind of competing with one another.”

 

“It’s hard to imagine Hanschen not competing at everything he does,” he mused.

 

Melchior laughed at that, finally relaxing. He rested his hands against the table and leaned forward a little. “Yeah, he always liked to win I guess. Looks like he did,” he looked around the room for a moment. “It’s nice that at least one of us did.”

 

Moritz picked up something in Melchior’s tone. It wasn’t quite jealousy, more like longing. He wondered why this guy seemed to have so many damn layers to him. He was too drunk to be able to figure them all out.

 

“What about you?” Melchior asked.

 

“Me? Uh, I met him through Ernst I guess.”

 

“Sounds thrilling.”

 

Moritz hadn’t laughed since Melchior had gotten there. He wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to but somehow he had. “Yeah my life is … incredibly thrilling.”

 

“Yeah? What do you do?”

 

“What do you mean?”

  
“You know, your job. Your career or whatever. What do you do?”

 

Moritz sighed. He looked down at at the table and away from Melchior. “I’m an actor,” he shrugged. “Well, I’m supposed to be.”

 

“Wait, you’re an actor?”

 

He had no idea why Melchior sounded so _excited_ at that. Usually people who weren’t in the industry would scoff. Then again, Moritz had no idea what industry Melchior worked in. Had Ilse started in theater when she got to New York? He couldn’t remember.

 

‘I,um - wow, this is great,” Melchior continued.

 

Moritz looked up at him, trying to figure out why Melchior was all lit up. “What’s great?” he asked.

 

“I, um” he broke off, laughing and starting to pat at the pockets of his jacket looking for something. “I have a job for an actor,” he explained.

 

Moritz felt some kind of lightbulb go off in his brain. “A job?” he repeated.

 

“Yeah. I’m directing this play and, um, I came back to New York because I know there’s heaps more theater people here. _Good_ theater people -”

 

“Well, you’re looking at the wrong person,” Moritz interrupted.

 

Melchior seemed to find whatever he’d been looking for, but he paused. “What do you mean?”

 

“If you’re looking for a _good_ actor then you won’t want to talk to me.”

 

Melchior looked at him for a moment. Moritz wasn’t sure but he thought that maybe he might have been studying him, trying to figure him out. He hated when people did that. “Do you think you’re a good actor?” he asked.

 

Moritz shrugged. “I’m … mediocre at best, honestly.”

 

“Ok, new question. Does Ilse think you’re a good actor?”

 

Moritz found himself nodding. “I think she’s biased because she wants me to do well, but she thinks I’m good, yeah.”

 

Melchior smiled at that. “That’s all the reassurance I need,” he said. “I’m gonna give you this,” he slid a business card across the table. “I know this is vague and strange and you really don’t have to come if you don’t want to but I’m holding auditions and, Moritz, I think it would be really nice if you could make it.”

 

He wasn’t sure how Melchior had remembered his name. He wasn’t sure why he was so distracted by the way his name sounded when Melchior said it, but when Moritz looked up at him again he could only see hope in his eyes. He didn’t know what to say.

 

“No pressure,” he added. “I promise.”

 

They didn’t even know each other but he was already making promises. Moritz felt dizzy in the worst way possible. He took the card, he’d probably put it in his wallet later or something. He could see Ilse and Martha on their way back over out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t hold your breath,” he said.

 

***

 

“God, he has business cards now. What a fucking nerd,” Ilse laughed. She was sitting on Moritz and Martha’s couch the next day, spinning the small bit of cardboard in her hands and almost admiring it. It did look pretty professional. She couldn’t wait to tease Melchior about it later.

 

“You know, this is almost funny,” Martha smirked, setting down three cups of coffee on their small table and sitting next to Ilse.

 

“How so?”

 

“Because Moritz didn’t even need us to find him a job. He did it all by himself.”

 

Moritz rolled his eyes at that, clutching the warm mug in his hands. “He’s Ilse’s friend. She did this.”

 

“I only introduced you two. You got an audition by yourself,” she reminded.

 

Moritz couldn’t really refute that. It all felt too easy. He hadn’t even asked for the audition, Melchior just offered it to him. He knew for sure that there were dozens of great actors in New York. Tons of actors that were much better than he was, and he was sure that Melchior could just as easily get any of them in his play.

 

“So, when’s the audition?” Martha asked, hiding her smirk behind her mug. She caught Ilse’s eye and the two of them shared a look. A look of hope, because they could tell that Moritz was thinking about Melchior and that could only mean one thing.

 

“Technically he didn’t tell me that.”

 

Ilse fished for her phone absently. “Well, it’s good to see he’s still an idiot,” she said, dialing Melchior’s new number and setting her phone on the table on speaker.

 

“Melchior Gabor,” he answered.

 

Ilse barely stopped herself from bursting into laughter right then and there. “You should answer with ‘Melchior Fucking Gabor’ it’ll be funnier,” she smirked.

 

“Ilse. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

“So formal.”

 

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” he teased.

 

“Gotta remind me who I’m talking to.”

 

Moritz wondered briefly why Ilse had never mentioned Melchior at all. The two of them seemed to be quite close. He could tell that by just how easily they fell into banter with each other. Maybe it was just because they hadn’t spoken in a while. He guessed that he should just be glad that Ilse had someone when he and Martha hadn’t made it to New York yet.

 

“Good to see you haven’t changed,” Melchior laughed.

 

“Good to see you haven’t either.” Ilse looked far too smug for what should be comfortable. “So I have a question,” she said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You see, you gave a very good friend of mine this strange looking business card -”

 

“I actually like the business car-”

 

“And he mentioned something about an audition but allegedly you never even told him when the audition was. So, what’s up with that?”

 

“Ok easy enough question. I didn’t want to put any pressure on Moritz. Like, I didn’t want him to feel like he _had_ to come just because we’re friends or anything.”

 

Ilse paused for a moment. “That’s actually … really sweet of you,” she muttered.

 

“You say that like you’re surprised.”

 

“Well you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

 

Melchior laughed at that and Moritz thought that maybe he was melting. “Just, tell Moritz that he doesn’t have to feel obligated to come. It’s just if he wants to. I can’t … actually remember the address off the top of my head -”

 

“Of course you can’t.”

 

“- but I’ll text it to you and then you can pass it along. I mean, I hope he can make it. Don’t tell him that, but … I don’t know, it would be nice to know someone there, I guess. It’s been awhile since I was in New York.”

 

Ilse was smirking something wicked. “You can trust me to be your little messenger girl,” she said.

 

“You have me on speaker don’t you?”

 

Ilse didn’t say anything to that and the group heard Melchior sigh on the other end.

 

“Hi Martha. Hi Moritz,” he said. There was an edge to his voice, he seemed … embarrassed? Moritz couldn’t quite tell. He would probably feel sorry for him if he wasn’t feeling so nervous and jittery just from the sound of his voice. That wasn’t normal. He’d have to deal with _that_ later.

 

“Do you have a preference for the monologue? Or will you be providing them?” Ilse asked.

 

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. Um, I don’t have a preference but I guess if people need monologues then I’d have to provide them.”

 

“It’s New York, everyone brings their own monologue. I was just teasing you.”

 

“Nice to know that that’s still your favourite passtime.”

 

“You know me too well, Gabor.”

 

There was a pause and Moritz was sure that he and Martha were missing some kind of inside joke.

 

“Anything else I can do for you?” Melchior asked.

 

“You trying to get rid of me?”

  
“You know I would never do that.”

 

Ilse smiled for a moment. She seemed so content and Moritz was somehow finding himself jealous. “Honestly, that’s all I had. Thanks for clearing that up.”

 

“Yeah, that’s ok. I’ll send you the address in a sec, yeah?”

 

“Hey, Melchi?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s good to have you back.”

 

There was a pause and Moritz could just imagine the smile on Melchior’s face. “It’s good to be back,” he said, then the line dropped dead.

 

Ilse shoved her phone back into her pocket and leaned back against the couch. For a moment, none of them said anything.

 

“He’s adorable,” Martha muttered, breaking the silence.

 

“Yeah, he can be sweet. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was coming back to New York,” she replied.

 

“You can’t really blame him if he didn’t have a phone.”

 

“I mean, you’re right, but I’m gonna blame him anyway.”  


***

 

Moritz only really had the one monologue. It was the same monologue that he’d used for every audition he’d had pretty much since high school. It was the only one that he knew in its entirety, and that he could deliver with some sort of the level of confidence. He was good at it, his one monologue. It was the reason that he’d managed to get cast on occasion, but he’d be dropped as soon as the director realised that he couldn’t remember his lines fast enough. He wasn’t really sure if Melchior would be like that. He didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell, but Ilse had been sending him encouraging messages all week so that must have meant something.

 

It was a relatively sunny day, and he thought that maybe that was supposed to be a good omen as he made his way through the New York streets towards the theater that Melchior had given him the address of. He always intended to be early, but this time he might have outdone himself. It was over an hour before auditions were supposed to start. He didn’t want to seem too eager but he’d rather just face this now than walk around aimlessly to pass some time, and he should probably talk to Melchior about the ADHD thing, just so he knew what to expect. Moritz was never really the best at with dealing with his nerves, and auditions always made it even worse. He hadn’t had one in a while. He’d kind of given up acting after the rejection of his last attempt, but the stage door was familiar as he stood in front of it and took a deep breath before knocking. Since he was so early, he’d thought it best to come around back. Maybe Melchior would need help with … something.

 

Whatever Moritz had been expecting, it wasn’t the way Melchior’s face lit up when he opened the door and saw him. “Moritz,” he smiled. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

 

“Sorry I’m so early,” he shrugged, keeping his shaking hands stuffed in his pockets and trying to remain as casual as possible.

 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m just glad you came.” Melchior stepped aside, letting Moritz come through before closing the door again. “You kind of scared me though, I wasn’t really expecting anyone and I honestly thought for a moment that someone was going to come and kick me out.”

 

“Sorry, again.”

 

“It’s fine, really.”

 

Moritz was hesitating, and he was very aware of it. And he knew that the more he waited to speak, the more Melchior became aware of it. Melchior was strangely … fidgety. He could tell that it wasn’t something he was used to doing, it didn’t look right on him at all. Melchior didn’t seem like someone who would be nervous. “Are you ok?” he asked.

 

“Huh? Oh, um, yeah. I’m - I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t seem it.”

 

Melchior laughed and shook his head. “I haven’t done theater in a really long time. So, I’m kind of getting myself to relearn everything. I mean, I’ve already been here for like two hours just wandering around to familiarize myself with the place.”

 

Well, wasn’t that adorable. “It’s not easy,” Moritz agreed.

 

“We probably shouldn’t stay hanging out here in the doorway. The theater’s empty so if you want you can just hang around in there,” he offered.

 

“Sure.”

 

Moritz gazed absently around the theater as he loosely followed Melchior from backstage. He’d had an audition here a while ago. He’d gotten the part at the time but he’d only kept it for about three more days after that.

 

“Can I be honest with you, Moritz?” Melchior asked, pausing and waiting for him to catch up again.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He seemed to be definitely struggling with something. There was a weight on his shoulders that Moritz didn’t remember being there the last time they met. “I’m terrified that no one’s going to show up,” he muttered, flopping down into one of the seats in the front row. “There, I said it.”

 

Moritz shouldn’t have been as surprised at that as he was. He knew that people would come. People always came to auditions. There were too many starving artists in New York for them to _not_ come. “They will,” he replied.

 

Melchior smiled up at him. Moritz thought that maybe some of the weight had lifted, just slightly. He wasn’t sure why he seemed to have that effect. “You can sit, you know.”

 

“Ah, the reason I came so early is because I had to talk to you about something,” Moritz said, trying to remember how to talk to someone about this. It _had_ been a while.

 

“Moritz, you’re shaking.” Melchior took Moritz’s hand and gently tugged, pulling him over to the seat next to him.

 

Moritz all but collapsed into it, his leg immediately deciding that it needed to start up a quick, bouncy rhythm. “Sorry, this is harder than I remember it being,” he apologised.

 

He could tell that Melchior was confused, considering that he didn’t say anything, but he also looked quite concerned and Moritz wasn’t sure what to do with that.

 

“I have ADHD,” he said.

 

“Ok?”

 

“This … sounds weird but just hang on it’ll make sense in a minute,” he muttered. “I, um, have a lot of trouble remembering my lines, at the beginning at least. It takes me … a longer period of time than it really should to learn everything. I just needed to tell you that so you know in advance.”

 

Melchior still looked confused, but the concern had left his expression now. He ran a hand through his hair absently, his eyes not leaving Moritz. “Were you worried I wouldn’t let you audition because of that?”

 

“No, not audition.”

 

“You wouldn’t be the first to forget their lines at an audition.”

 

“I’m being hypothetical,” he explained. “If you do decide to give me a part, and I’m not assuming you will I’m just saying that if you do, it’ll take me some time to learn it.”

 

That seemed to make more sense to him. Melchior nodded and smiled at him. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, a hand coming to rest against Moritz’s knee, effectively stopping it from tapping.

 

Moritz momentarily forgot how to breathe. “So, who else is coming?” he asked, trying to ignore how rough his voice had suddenly become.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, pulling away.

 

“Ah, the producer and the playwright. Or just the playwright?”

 

“Oh, the playwright’s already here,” Melchior shrugged.

 

“I thought it was just you and me.”

 

Melchior laughed and handed him a book. Moritz looked down at it, skimming over the title he noticed the words ‘written by Melchior Gabor’ along the bottom.

 

“Congratulations,” he said.

 

“Yeah, I guess I just wanted to direct it myself. Just so I knew how it’s going to turn out.”

 

Moritz just looked at him, saw horror start to register in Melchior’s eyes.

 

“Oh god, that sounded horrible, didn’t it? I just don’t really know any directors. Not anymore at least.”

 

Moritz laughed. “It’s ok,” he said. “If I wrote something I’d have trouble giving creative control to someone else.”

 

“It’s not just that. I guess I just want to be a part of it?”

 

“Can’t blame you.”

 

Melchior avoided his eyes for a moment, shuffling the small pile of plays and a stack of papers that he obviously had to write notes on instead. “Thanks.”

 

“Auditions are always a little rough, if that makes you feel better,” he smirked.

 

“You’d know.”

 

“Ah, yes. Didn’t Ilse tell you that I’m a seasoned actor by now?”

 

“She might have mentioned it.”  


***

 

Ilse was surprised, mostly because Melchior had only been back in New York for a few days and yet he somehow already knew where to find her. She probably should have realised that he would remember where her favourite coffee shop was. She’d dragged him along there enough times when she’d first discovered it. Ilse was sitting at her usual table by the window, her sketchpad sitting in front of her as she tried to work on some new designs. She had a deadline to uphold and yet she was finding her creativity to be a little stunted that day. She wondered if it was because Moritz was borrowing it for his audition or something crazy like that. When Melchior leaned against the chair in front of her, it almost startled her.

 

“You have some explaining to do,” he said to her. There was no anger in his voice, no frustration. Nothing that you would expect with a statement like that. He mostly seemed shocked.

 

Ilse placed her pencil down carefully and looked at him. “Afternoon,” she greeted.

 

“He’s incredible.” The statement was louder than he expected it to be, and the four girls sitting at the table next to them started giggling amongst themselves as Melchior pulled the chair out and dropped into it, leaning forward towards her.

 

“And?” Ilse prompted, smirking. She didn’t need to ask _who_ was incredible. She knew he was talking about Moritz.

 

“I mean, as an actor. He’s an incredible actor. Why didn’t you tell me how _good_ he was?” he asked.

 

She leaned towards him, placing her hands on top of his gently. “If I told you, you wouldn’t have been nearly this impressed would you?”

 

Melchior pulled back, one hand moving to run through his hair, the other to nudge at his glasses. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I need to run something by you.”

 

Ilse watched as Melchior pulled out a copy of his play from beneath his jacket. She almost wanted to laugh at that because it was so _him_ to just carry one around with him everywhere, but she supposed that it served a purpose at the moment.

 

“He told me about the ADHD thing,” Melchior explained, placing the play on the table in front of her.

 

Ilse ran her fingers over the cover. Part of her was so proud of him. The play looked so legit.

 

“So I know that it can be hard for him to learn lines and that he needs time to do that,” he continued.

 

She looked up at him. “What are you asking?”

 

“I want to give him the lead, Ilse. I really do. He was the best actor in there today, and there was a lot of good ones, but I just don’t know if it’s too much. I don’t want to overload him, and this play isn’t necessarily easy, I guess.”

 

Ilse looked up her friend, a smile making its way onto her face. “You’re serious?” she asked.

 

Melchior nodded. “You know how serious I am when it comes to stuff I’m working on.”

 

He was right, she did know. Back when they were working together he would consistently run himself into the ground, even accidentally, just because he wanted all of the work to get done. And for it to be perfect. “He’ll need time,” she said.

 

“I know. I’ll give him the time.”

 

Ilse had truly never seen him so serious, or intense, and intense was practically Melchior’s middle name. She thought about Moritz and how he’d already packed all his things. She thought about how this job could keep him afloat for just a little while longer. Just enough for her to find him something else when it was done. “Melchi, I’m so glad you came back to New York,” she muttered.

 

Melchior wasn’t sure why Ilse seemed so emotional all of a sudden, but he leaned across the table and took her hands in his anyway. “You know, it’s not as easy to cast a play here as it was when we both did them in high school,” he smirked. “There’s no piece of paper to stick up on the drama club board.”

 

“I thought that fancy phone of yours was for business calls anyway,” she joked.

 

Melchior laughed at that. “You’re right.” He paused for a moment. “I think I want to tell him in person. Is that weird?”

 

“No, that’s really nice of you.”

 

“It’s a lot of lines,” he reminded.

 

 “He can do it,” she reassured.

 

Melchior pulled away from her again and nodded. “I can’t believe this is all really happening.”

 

Ilse looked down at the play still in front of her. “Is this play as nerdy as you?”

 

“God, I hope so.”

 

***

 

It hadn’t taken much for Ilse to give him Moritz’s address and Melchior know that meant that she had an incredibly amount of faith in the both of them and his play, and that made him so incredibly happy. The apartment building was small, just like most of the buildings in New York. He thought that Ilse had mentioned at some point that Moritz and Martha lived in a studio apartment, just like pretty much everyone else in New York. Well, at least the building felt somewhat familiar. Melchior paused in front of the door and for a moment just waited. He wasn’t sure if either of them would be home. He hadn’t really asked Ilse that since he didn’t want to appear too creepy. Then again, showing up at the door of someone you just met was probably creepy enough. He sighed to himself and knocked.

 

Martha was the one that pulled the door open. She smiled at him the second she saw him and Melchior felt himself relax. He wondered if her calming presence worked on everyone. “I’m guessing his audition went well then?” she asked.

 

He nodded. “More than well."

 

“Moritz!” she called, stepping aside and letting Melchior into the apartment. Sure, it was small, but the two of them had set up an awful lot of dividers and various curtains to try and make it feel like a home. “There’s someone here to see you!”

 

Moritz appeared from behind one of the dividers. He was mid sentence when he noticed Melchior. “You don’t have to be so formal it’s obviously one of our friends no one comes to see -” he paused, looking at Melchior with a wild mix of surprise and horror in his eyes.

 

“I hope this isn’t too weird,” Melchior muttered. “Ilse gave me your address.”

 

“It’s not weird,” Martha reassured, because Moritz had frozen up so there was no chance of him speaking.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about the audition.”

 

Moritz took a few steps forward, sharing a look with Martha and stopping next to her. “Melchior, you didn’t have to come all the way here to have _that_ conversation.”

 

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” he replied. He could tell by the look on Moritz’s face that he had no idea what that meant. Melchior looked between Moritz and Martha. He was trying his best to stay composed but there was a smile that kept threatening him. “Moritz, I want to give you the lead,” he said.

 

Moritz was sure that if he wasn’t standing next to Martha he would have easily collapsed to the ground. Surely, he couldn’t have heard him right? The lead? This was … this was crazy. He had to be dreaming, or something. “The lead?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Yeah. I know that you’re worried about the lines, but I’ll make sure you have time to learn them. Really.”

 

He took a few more steps forward, so he was in front of Melchior now, close enough that Melchior could easily see the tears welling up in his eyes. Moritz noticed that concern again. He wondered why Melchior even felt concern towards him when they barely knew each other. “You’re not joking, are you?” he asked, just to be sure, because there was still that little voice in the back of his mind trying to convince him this wasn’t real.

 

Melchior nodded. “You were the best actor to audition, Moritz. I mean that.”

 

“And you’re not going to take this back in three days? Or a week?”

 

“Promise.”

 

Moritz wasn’t entirely sure what had gotten into him but before he even realised that he moved he was hugging Melchior, practically clinging to him and burying his head against his shoulder. This probably wasn’t a normal thing to do with someone you just met, but maybe it could be excused just this once.

 

Melchior wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t a hug. At least, not one nearly as tight as this. He didn’t usually hug people, especially people that weren’t Ilse, but Moritz seemed to really need this. “You’re shaking,” he muttered, because he was. Maybe this was just a lot for him to take in. He hugged Moritz back, but not nearly as tightly, almost afraid of crushing him.

 

“Sorry,” Moritz gasped, pulling away again. “Sorry, that was weird. I don’t - I don’t usually do that.”

 

“It’s ok.” To be fair, the good news might have been overwhelming. He'd seen actor do weirder things after getting cast. 

 

“Thank you, though. Really. Thank you so much.”

 

When Melchior looked over towards Martha again, he could see her tearing up as well. Maybe she was just really proud of him. Maybe the two of them were just emotional. It didn’t really matter, all that really did was that he suddenly felt so _happy_. “No, thank you. Your audition was amazing.”

 

Moritz was never sure what to do with compliments, so he just avoided Melchior’s eyes and waited for Martha to pick up some kind of conversation again.

 

***

 

Moritz wasn’t entirely sure if he’d ever been this happy in his entire life. He definitely couldn’t remember feeling this _elated_ before. It was different to when he’d gotten other roles, there’d always been a sense of dread at the back of his mind then, because he knew that he’d be dropped eventually, but he didn’t feel that with this. He felt almost … confident, and that wasn’t something that he was used to at all. After Melchior left, Martha practically crushed him in one of the warmest hugs he’d ever received. She told him how proud she was of him and Moritz was crying before he knew it. It took him a few minutes of clinging to Martha to completely register everything that had just happened. Then he realised that he wanted to tell his other friends as well. He quickly texted Ilse to ask her where she was and was grateful that she was in Ernst’s studio with him and Hanschen. That made everything so much easier, he could just tell all his friends at once.

 

***

 

They had about a month for rehearsals, which was a reasonable enough time period for them to get everything together but it still somehow didn’t seem like enough. Every single member of their company could feel the weight of every pressing moment as they tried to get the play onto its feet. They started off on track, everything falling into place where it needed to. They did a few readings first while everyone familiarised themselves with what needed to be done. They talked about their character’s motives, the themes of the play, and the weight that needed to be put on certain scenes, the underlying meanings that were present. Melchior was a good director and no one seemed more surprised about that than he was. As they went through scene by scene he asked questions and actually listened to the answers, accepting everyone’s different interpretations of the events and characters and noting how he can incorporate it all into the finished product.

 

The first week was good for Moritz. No one else knew their lines yet either so they were all allowed to hold onto their scripts even when they started working on blocking and staging. It was easy enough then to pretend like he was learning them, like he would have memorised at least half of it by the next week, even though he knew that he wouldn’t. As more and more people started needing their scripts less and less, Moritz could tell that he was starting to get left behind. He was trying to stay calm about it all but as they wore into the second week and he was the only one who wasn’t able to remember most of his lines he couldn’t help but start to panic. He wasn’t sure why Melchior’s faith in him seemed to be so unwavering when he could tell that even some members of the cast were starting to doubt his ability to pull this off. Sometimes he could hear exasperated sighs whenever his brain short-circuited and he forgot a line mid-scene, or accidentally missed a line. He should have realised who would be the first to crack.

 

***

 

“I’m sorry,” Moritz apologised. He thought he’d had the line, he really did. It was the start of their third week now, almost the end of the day. They should have been finalising everything. Next week was tech week and they needed to be ready for it, but he still couldn’t remember half his lines, and this was the third time they’d tried this scene.

 

“It’s ok, Moritz,” Melchior replied. Moritz had never known anyone to be as patient as he was being. He wondered how he hadn’t been kicked out by now.

 

“It’s not ok!” a voice called from towards the back of the stage.

 

Moritz felt his entire body go stiff. Of course it had to be Bobby Maler who decided to act out first, everyone else was far too nice for that. He wondered if they all felt the same way. Well, seemed this role was coming to end. It was a shame, really, he’d been enjoying it.

 

Melchior didn't miss a beat. “It’s fine. We’ll run the scene again.”

 

There was a loud _crash_ and Moritz jumped out of skin. Everyone turned to see that Bobby had knocked over one of the heavier props that had been resting towards the back, fortunately it didn’t seem to be damaged at all. He looked so angry that Moritz was already starting to feel sick. He should just walk out now and be done with it. He felt someone grab onto his arm gently, trying to keep him calm. _Wendla_.

 

Melchior jumped up onto the little stage that they’d been working on. His eyes were intent on Bobby but he didn’t move any further than that.

 

Moritz could feel the anger in the room and he realised that he’d never seen Melchior angry before. He wondered how bad it would be. Surely this had been grating on everyone. They were all running out of time, and he knew that he was holding them all back.

 

“Are you going to pick that up?” Melchior asked, there was an edge to his voice that had never been there before. It was almost vicious. Moritz knew he should say something. Knew he should insist on leaving, that of course Bobby was right and that Melchior had no reason to doubt him, but Wendla was still holding onto his arm and it was stopping him from doing anything.

 

“How the fuck are we going to get through tech week if your lead actor doesn’t even know his lines?”

 

“There’s still a week left we have -”

 

“We don’t have time, Gabor!”

 

Melchior sighed, rolling his eyes and that seemed to make everything worse because Bobby unleashed.

 

“Look, I’ve worked with this kid before and he never learns his fucking lines and you should have realised that by now. If you knew what you were doing, you would have fired him and have someone else replace him. We have one week left to get this right and you only have half this stupid play done to begin with! We haven’t even run through the finale once!”

 

Moritz went entirely numb. Arguments started within the room and he couldn’t tell if they were agreeing with Bobby or not since he’d zoned out, but he was sure that they were. He was sure that everyone wanted to get rid of him. This was a mistake anyway. He’d had his bags packed. He should have just gone back home. There was nothing for him here. He was letting everyone down. He stepped forward, intent on walking out and leaving everyone to pick up the pieces that he’d torn Melchior’s play into.

 

Melchior seemed to have other ideas. He’d somehow ended up closer to Moritz when everyone had been arguing and rested a hand against his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, voice so soft that it was jarring against all the other sounds in the room.

 

“Oh so you’re in love with him or something then? That why you’re keeping him on? To get in his pants?”

 

“If you have a problem with how I direct this play, Maler, then you’re welcome to leave. The door is in the same place you left it this morning,” Melchior replied, hand dropping from Moritz’s shoulder.

 

Bobby only hesitated for a second, to sneer at Melchior, before rushing from the room. He slammed the door hard behind him and half of them jumped at the sound.

 

“If anyone else wants to join Bobby then just know that you won’t be welcomed back here tomorrow.”

 

The room went deathly silent. Melchior looked around at the rest of the actors, not one them had moved and he was almost surprised.

 

“Good riddance,” Thea muttered. “He was _so_ egotistical.”

 

There were murmurs of agreement and Melchior broke into a strained smile.  

 

“We’ll pick this up again tomorrow,” he said. “Take the afternoon off, you guys have all been working your asses off.”

 

Moritz felt Wendla squeeze his arm gently before muttering something about seeing him tomorrow and then leaving with the rest of the cast. He felt cemented to the floor, unable to move. He was still processing what had happened, and wasn’t entirely sure why Melchior had stood up for him. When the door closed behind the last person, he suddenly realised just how _tired_ Melchior looked. This whole thing must have been getting to him far more than he let on.

 

“He’s right,” Melchior muttered, running a hand through his hair and then over his face slowly.

 

 _Here it comes_ , Moritz thought.

 

“I do have no idea what I’m doing, but I know that this play wouldn’t be half as good without you in it.”

 

“What?”

 

Melchior smiled at that. “I don’t know if this will help,” he muttered, “but I know that some actors relate lines they struggle with to certain elements of staging. I’m not sure what part of them you’re struggling with if anything, but if you need someone to run lines with you know where to find me.”

 

He had no idea what to say. _Why are you still being nice to me?_ “What do you mean you don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked.

 

Melchior looked up at him. There was the ghost of smile on his face and Moritz wasn’t quite sure but he thought that maybe he looked quite sad. He’d never really seen Melchior sad before, and he really didn’t want to. “I’ve mentioned before that I haven’t worked in theatre for a while,” he explained. “I, um, I’ve kind of forgotten a lot of what I learnt when I did and I don’t have a lot of experience in most of what goes into this. I’ve been trying to work out lighting cues over the past few days and I honestly have no idea what I’m doing. I really don’t think I know what I’m doing at all.”

 

Moritz looked at him for a moment. “You mean you don’t have anyone to help you with lighting? What about sound?”

 

He just shrugged.

 

“Melchior, you can’t do all of this on your own. You can call Ilse, she has a billion contacts that would be able to help.”

 

“I know but I didn’t really want to bother her with this -”

 

“You wouldn’t be bothering her. She’d want to help you. If anything she’d just chastise you for not asking for help sooner,” Moritz replied.

 

Melchior laughed at that. “Yeah, she’d _chastise_ me a lot for that. She knows me too well. I’ve always had trouble with … asking for help with stuff.”

 

Moritz wasn’t really sure where this conversation was going or if it was going anywhere but if he knew anything it was that this play would be much better without him in it. “Melchior, I need you to fire me,” he said, staring at the ground and not up at him.

 

“What?”

 

Moritz coughed and shuffled his feet, trying to avoid what he needed to say even though he knew that he couldn’t. “Bobby’s an asshole but he’s that way because he knows how talented he is. He’s a _good_ actor and I know that you wanted one for your play -”

 

“When did this become about Bobby?” he interrupted.

 

“I’m ripping your play to shreds, Melchi, and you deserve better than that.”

 

Melchior didn’t know what to say to that. He just looked at Moritz in disbelief.

 

“I’m a lost cause,” he said.

 

“I don’t believe in lost causes.”

 

There was a pause where Moritz looked up at him, confused at to what that was supposed to mean. He wasn’t entirely sure why Melchior looked so serious right now, so sure of what he was saying.

 

“I think you just need someone to believe in you, Moritz, and I do. I really believe that you can do this, and I want you to prove it to everyone who thinks that you can’t.”

 

To say he was lost for words would be an understatement. There were very few people in Moritz’s life that had ever said anything close to that (Martha, Ilse, Ernst), but to have it come from Melchior was something else. He’d never expected someone to believe in him before, not like this at least.

 

“I’m such an idiot,” Melchior muttered. Truly that only made Moritz more confused and it must have showed on his face because he was quick to clarify. “You’re trying to work yourself into this production,” he explained, “when I should be instead moulding the play around you.”

 

“Forgive me, Melchi, but I have no idea what you mean.”

 

“That’s ok. I’ll … explain in a second. I need to call Ilse. Hang on.” He quickly grabbed at his phone, dialing Ilse’s number without even thinking about it. The dial tone beeped and he went straight to voicemail. She must have still been at work.“Ilse. It’s Melchi. Call me back as soon as you get this,” he said.

 

Moritz laughed and it almost startled him.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just … you’re probably the only person I’ve seen actually leave a message in, like, ten years.”

 

He smirked. “It more dramatic that way, don’t you think?”

 

Moritz shook his head slowly, unable to help the smile that spread onto his face. “You’re right.”

 

“Now, Moritz, I have an idea. I’m not sure if it’ll work yet, but maybe it will. I think we have to try.”

 

***

 

They had four days to rework the entire play and they were all so energised that they’d somehow managed to convince themselves they could do it. Melchior was certain that the best way to accomplish this was to change some of the dialogue, making it not only easier for Moritz to remember but building it so that it would seem like second nature for him to deliver it. Most of the themes and overall concepts stayed the same but a few of the story lines were shifted around a little, some side characters gained some more depth which helped take some of the pressure off Moritz.

 

It took them about half of the week to nail the dialogue and rewrite the script. Moritz wasn’t sure how he was pulling this off but he seemed to be remembering his lines more and more. He didn’t know why that was but something about the new structure was making it so much easier for him to do so. Towards the end of the week, when they were putting the finishing touches on their staging they managed to do as close to a full run through as they could. When they got through the most important scenes without Moritz forgetting a single line everyone broke character to hug him. Moritz wasn’t sure what to do with all the attention. He’d never been on the receiving end of a group hug before, at least not one this large, and full of so much joy. He couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day after that. Especially when everyone pulled away and he could see Melchior beaming up at him.

 

“I knew you could do it,” he said, and Moritz almost started crying right then and there because of the obvious _pride_ in his voice.

 

 _Not without you_ , he thought.

 

***

 

When Ilse opened the door to Ernst’s studio to let Moritz in she noticed immediately just how _happy_ he was, and god knew that when Moritz really and truly smiled it could put the sun to shame. She hadn’t seen him so at ease in forever and could immediately feel herself tearing up at the sight. She was tempted to just pull him into a hug straight away but she let him push passed her instead and closed the door behind him. Moritz dropped his bag into a corner and looked between his three friends. Ernst was bent over what had to be his latest masterpiece. He was sure that he’d mentioned something about a watercolour commission a while ago but couldn’t think what it was supposed to be of. Whatever it was, he knew that it would be incredible when it was finished. Hanschen was next to him, reading what Moritz thought was a textbook, his shoulder bumping against Ernst’s whenever he turned a page or Ernst switched paintbrushes. Ilse moved to sit on one of the small tables, cross legged and with her sketchpad in her lap. Moritz was struck for a moment just by the domesticity of it all.

 

“Does anyone want to hear my lines?” he asked, unable to stop himself from smiling.

 

Three pairs of eyes looked up at him questioningly.

 

“Surely you want to keep those a surprise for when we come to see the play, don’t you?” Ernst asked, carefully placing his paintbrush in an empty jar so that no extra paint dropped onto his canvas.

 

“And don’t you need your script anyway?” Hanschen added, folding over the corner of his page and closing his book before looking up at Moritz again.

 

Moritz shook his head. “No, I don’t. I made it through all of rehearsal today without needing to be fed my lines,” he explained.

 

“Moritz, that’s amazing!” Ilse beamed.

 

Ernst jumped up and quickly crossed the room, pulling Moritz into a hug. “I _told_ you that you’d remember them. You’ve been worried about nothing.”

 

“And I should have believed you but sometimes that’s hard for me to do,” he admitted.

 

“But you always prove me right,” he teased, pulling away and moving back to his seat. Spinning his paintbrush absently before it touched the canvas again. 

 

Moritz sat next to Ilse on the table and leaned into her a little. “I think he might be proud of me,” he said.

 

“Of course he is,” she laughed, nudging him gently with her elbow.

 

“Who’s proud of you?” Hanschen asked.

 

“His director.”

 

“He better be proud. You’ve been working yourself really hard for this.”

 

“Tell them if they’re not proud I’ll knock their teeth in,” Ernst added. He clenched his hand into a fist for emphasis and all of them knew not to doubt him.

 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Moritz muttered.

 

“You know, Hanschen, it’s a real small world,” Ilse smirked, shifting so that she could swing her legs under the table.

 

“How so?”

 

“You actually know Moritz’s director.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Apparently you went to high school together,” Moritz shrugged.

 

Hanschen looked between the two of them, almost suspicious now. The two of them paused and waited for him to cave. “Alright, fine. Who’s your director, Moritz?”

 

“Why don’t you try and guess?” Ilse teased.

 

“Do you know how many people were in my year?”

 

“You’re no fun. Do you remember Melchior Gabor?”

 

“Oh that tool,” Hanschen laughed. “Yeah I remember him.”

 

“Actually,” Ilse mused, eyes flicking between Moritz and Hanschen, “Something just occurred to me.” She paused for a moment, seeming to think over her words very carefully.

 

“Well, don’t leave us hanging,” Ernst prompted.

 

“Hanschen, if you and Melchi went to high school together then you must have about a million embarrassing stories about him,” she mused.

 

Hanschen raised an eyebrow. There was a glint in his eye that was far passed mocking. “And?”

 

“And I seriously need more things to tease him about,” she smirked.

 

“Consider yourself enlightened then.”

 

***

 

“Melchior Fucking Gabor!”

 

Melchior had heard Ilse call him that so frequently over the time that they’d known each other that sometimes he forgot that ‘Fucking’ wasn’t even his real middle name. He’d basically accepted it as such. He looked up from the notes he was working through and watched as she strode into the theatre towards him. Technically neither of them should be here this late, and he wasn’t going to question why she was here at all. Tech week would be upon them in a few hours and he’d barely slept because of it. “What’s up?” he asked her, turning back to what he was working on.

 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you didn’t have anyone for lighting and sound?” she asked, dropping into the seat next to him and practically shoving at him to get his attention.

 

“I was going to mention it earlier this week but I kind of got caught up in everything else instead,” he shrugged, a hand indicating the insane amount of production notes he was reading over.

 

“Well, you should have. I would have called Otto and Georg weeks ago! That would have given them a lot more time to get ready for this. Do you even have any idea of what your cues are going to be?”

 

“Truly Ilse, I’ve never had an idea of anything ever in my entire life,” he replied, crossing something out on his page and writing over it.

 

“This week is going to be horrible for you, but I guess you already know that.”

 

Melchior looked up at her. He could see how tired she was as well. She’d been struggling through this with them over the past week. He’d asked for her advice and opinions at every corner, knowing that having her approval would mean that the play would be at its best. “How’s Moritz doing?”

 

“I think he’s in shock mostly. I’ve heard him say his lines more often than anything else. He’s just surprised that he knows them,” she shrugged. “He never remembers how good he is but honestly it’s been awhile since he’s made it this far into a production.”

 

“I haven’t thanked you yet and I should have by now,” he muttered.

 

Ilse looked up at him for a moment, unsure where he was going with that. “What do you mean?”

 

“If it wasn’t for you. If I hadn’t had bumped into you again in that bar and you hadn’t introduced us, I have no idea where this play would be right now. I doubt it would have have come this far without him. So thank you, I guess.”

 

She smiled at that, nudged him playfully with her elbow. “I’m glad you know him and I’m glad I know you. Both of you.”

 

“You’re emotional this morning,” he teased.

 

“Well, it is like 3am.”

 

Even if he'd been aware of the time, it was still almost shocking to hear that. This week really was going to be awful for him. “Oh yeah. What are you doing here so early?”

 

“Making sure you actually get some sleep before rehearsals start. They’ll all need you in the morning. Tech week is hell.”

 

 _Mind reader._ “Remember our first tech week?”

 

“God, don’t remind me.”

 

***

 

On Monday it became clear to them all that Melchior was a perfectionist. On the surface of course that would be a good quality in a director. That way everyone could be sure that the play would come out for rehearsals and tech week in the best possible condition it could be, but at the moment it seemed to be a hindrance for them all. Between the combination of Melchior obviously having not slept the night before and not really having any idea what he was doing when it came to the lighting cues he and Otto were trying to work on, nothing seemed to be going right. He obviously had a very clear picture of what the play needed to look like, yet nothing that they did seemed to be lining up with that, and it was causing more than a few problems. The colours on stage weren’t right, but they were the only colours that they had so they had to try and work with them, and Melchior really didn’t want to compromise but he was trying. It was clear that Otto had worked with Melchior before, since he always knew what to say to help calm him down when he got a little too snappy, or frustrated, or upset that things weren’t working out. Keeping Melchior’s slight temper under control seemed to go hand in hand with all of this, but that was expected at this time in the production. Everyone was a little more on edge than usual.

 

When they seemed to get the lighting cues  _kind of_ right and tried running through scenes another problem appeared: the sound wasn’t working. Everything seemed to be too loud and props and doors slamming made far more noise than they should have and trying to level everyone’s mics so that you could hear everyone at the right times was far more trouble than it was worth. Melchior was sure that he’d thought about giving up at least three times that day but then he looked at Moritz, at all of the actors and the team and what they were building and he knew that they could pull through this. Somehow. If they could survive this week then they could do anything.

 

***

 

On Tuesday morning they actually seemed to have everything running smoothly. Georg had managed to figure out how to fix the sound levels and by moving a few of the props around everything seemed to be working out. They all knew that it was far too easy and when a few of the lights burst and went out none of them were all that surprised. The problem was that they needed to tell the theatre and let them deal with it themselves, but getting someone in to replace the bulbs wouldn’t happen until the next day so they had to somehow make it through rehearsals without some of their lighting. By lunch, Melchior could feel breakdown number one creeping up on him and managed to pull away from everyone else. He was sure that hiding up in the dressing rooms was a good idea. Everyone else was hanging out in theatre. No one would follow him. He could break down and then pull himself together again before they started working through the next few scenes. At least, he could have if Moritz hadn’t followed him.

 

“Crying alone in the dressing rooms. Classic Theatre Kid move. I can’t believe you’re finally one of us,” Moritz teased, leaning against the door frame. He watched as Melchior rushed to wipe angrily at his eyes, not quite looking at him.

 

“Oh, hi Moritz,” he managed, his voice thicker than usual.

 

Moritz felt something stab at him. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he said.

 

Melchior looked up at him, knowing that his eyes were red, and wondered why Moritz looked so sad because of it.

 

He crossed his arms over his chest, tried to convince himself to remain casual. He was feeling extra jittery, unsure how to help in this situation but desperate to. “I would lie and tell you that I came up here to grab something from someone’s bag. Or get a … cable or something, but really I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

 

Melchior wasn’t sure what to say. He watched as Moritz shifted almost uncomfortably, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

“You wouldn’t be the only one to cry in these very dressing rooms,” he continued. “Not this exact one. It was about three rooms up the hall, but the statement still stands.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Moritz smiled faintly, the memories so clear in his mind. We were doing a production of Othello and I was playing Cassio. Of course, you’ll know how Shakespeare is. His lines can be … hard to swallow.”

 

“You couldn’t remember them could you?”

 

He looked down at his hands, picking at his nails absently and avoiding Melchior’s eyes. “I lasted about three and a half days. Apparently other people can learn Shakespeare really quickly. I think a lot of them were already familiar with the play,” he shrugged.

 

Melchior couldn’t tell if he was more angry at the prospect of that or just upset by it all. “Moritz, I’m so sorry,” he said, because he felt that was all he could say.

 

He shrugged again. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now and I think that might be what matters.”

 

There was a pause where neither of them knew what to say. Moritz shifted again, crossing and uncrossing his arms, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket and the ends of his hair.

 

“What can I do to help you, Melchi?” he asked, because he was at a loss. He had no idea how to comfort people, but he knew that he wanted to. Melchior did seem calmer now, and he wasn’t sure if he’d had anything to do with that but he was grateful regardless. He knew all too well how insistent breakdowns could be.

 

Melchior looked at the surprisingly nervous boy in front of him. He wasn’t really sure if he had an answer for him. There wasn’t really anything that Moritz could do. He just needed to keep pushing through until they opened and tech week was finally behind them. As he tried to think of some kind of answer something pulled at the back of his mind. “When did you start calling me Melchi?”

 

Moritz startled at that, confused at being called out on it. “I’m sorry. I’ve heard Ilse call you that a lot so I just thought - I don’t know - I thought that was what you -”

 

“No, it’s fine. I just - Sorry - I didn’t mean to -” Melchior faltered.

 

Moritz knew that he shouldn’t be thinking just how _adorable_ Melchior looked when he was struggling for words, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He could tell that it was a foreign concept to him, Melchior always knew what to say and he seemed confused that he didn’t in that moment. Moritz shook his head and tried to expel the thought from his mind. He couldn’t think about Melchior like that. That would be weird.

 

“I think,” Melchior muttered, not quite looking at him, “that I just really need a hug.” He waited for some kind of response but when Moritz didn’t say anything he instantly regretted asking at all. It was a dumb thing to ask for anyway. He really shouldn’t have put Moritz in this position. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I shouldn’t have - you don’t have to. I can … go and find Wendla. Or something.”

 

“What? Oh! No, it’s ok. You can hug me, Melchior. It’s fine,” Moritz rushed, suddenly realising that maybe he needed a hug too. Specifically, a hug from Melchior. Fuck, he was in trouble.

 

Neither of them moved at first. Melchior watched Moritz for a moment, noting just how startled he seemed by the prospect of a hug. He wasn’t sure if he’d done or said something wrong but Moritz seemed far more jittery than usual. When Melchior stood up and hugged him all Moritz really knew was that he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t used to hugging people. He never hugged people unless they were Martha, or Ernst, or Ilse. This was different. He didn’t know how to hug someone he’d only really known for a month and that he’d never really hugged before. His mind was racing through a million thoughts all at once and it was almost overwhelming him.

 

The first thing Melchior noticed was that it took Moritz a moment to sink into the hug, but then he seemed to relax enough for the hug to seem normal. Hugs were normal, of course. There was nothing weird about this really. Moritz was good at hugs, at least, he thought so. He rarely hugged people, but this felt like a good hug, even if Moritz seemed a bit tense and somehow defensive. This was still a good hug. A platonic hug. Shit, he needed to talk to Ilse. Melchior pulled away first, clearing his throat and avoiding Moritz’s eyes.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered.

 

“S’ fine.”

 

“I’m sorry if that was weird. I didn’t mean for it to be weird but it might have been weird and I don’t think you’re touch-averse but if you are and that was extra weird I’m s-”

 

“Wait,” Moritz interrupted. “What made you think I could be touch-averse?”

 

Melchior had truly forgotten what it felt like to feel _embarrassed_. “Uh, your ring,” he explained. “I know the two don’t always go hand in hand but I wasn’t sure. Sorry, I didn’t want to assume.”

 

Moritz looked down at his right hand, curling it into a fist and running his thumb over the black ring on his middle finger. “No, not touch-averse,” he replied. “Just -”

 

“Cool.”

 

There was a pause. Moritz could suddenly feel a lot of tension in the room.

 

“Did you not want me to mention it?” Melchior asked. He sounded just about as confused as Moritz felt.

 

“No, it’s fine. I guess I’m not used to people noticing. Well, not so much noticing as recognising what it means,” he shrugged. “I’m a niche.”

 

Melchior smiled at that, some of the strain seemed to leave the room. “I guess that’s true,” he mused. He checked his phone absently, suddenly remembering where they were and the fact that time was passing around them. “We should -”

 

“Get back to rehearsal?” Moritz supplied.

 

“Yeah.”

 

***

 

When Moritz got home that night he wasn’t expecting to see some of his friends there, just Martha hunched over one of her textbooks but she must have been giving herself a night off. She deserved that of course, but that meant that Moritz had to face not only her, but also Ilse and Ernst (Hanschen must have been at the bar) in his current state, which he was kind of terrified of. If any of them said hi to him when he entered, he didn’t manage to register it. Martha and Ilse were on the couch, Martha sitting with her feet tucked under her and Ilse with hers thrown over the arm, leaning against Martha. Ernst was in one of their two armchairs, looking both tired and incredibly happy all at once. Moritz could tell that they knew that something was up with him. He could feel three pairs of eyes on him as he made his way over to the kitchen, dumping his bag in a corner on the way through. He gazed into the abyss of their fridge for a moment, not quite finding anything of interest before grabbing a bottle of _something_ \- he didn’t care what it was. It was probably one of the drinks Ilse left for them - and heading back over to his friends. Ilse had shifted, leaving a space next to her that she patted as he made his way over. He dropped into it.

 

The three of them were watching some animated movie that he vaguely remembered seeing as a child. It was probably a Disney movie but he wasn’t quite seeing it. It seemed that no one else was either because he could still feel the eyes of all his friends on him. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but he wasn’t sure what he should say. He guessed that he could tell them about rehearsal and how that was going, but really he probably needed to get advice about Melchior.

 

“So,” he said, breaking the silence that had formed between them. “Remind me again about the protocol when it comes to having a crush on your director.”

 

Ilse coughed but he could tell that she was doing it to hide a laugh.

 

“Predictable, I know,” he added, “but you might know more than I do.”

 

Ilse seemed to stop her ‘coughing’ fit in its tracks but she was biting down hard on her lip to try and stop herself from laughing again. Moritz wasn’t even offended by that. It was kind of ridiculous if he thought about it. “Sweet summer child,” she teased.

 

“Protocol is very formal of you,” Martha mused. “I can see you’re taking this very seriously.”

 

Ernst paused the movie and turned, leaning towards the three of them. “Ok, I need to see a picture of this Melchior kid. If he’s not worthy of you then I’ll know.”

 

“I can already tell you that it's the other way around.”

 

“Oh Moritz, don't. Here I must have a photo somewhere,” Ilse smiled, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She opened Instagram and quickly found Melchior’s account, knowing that there would be a decent enough photo of him on there, before handing her phone to Ernst.

 

Ernst looked at the photo for a moment, seeming to be studying it before handing the phone back. “Bit of a pretty boy, isn’t he?” he said.

 

“What can we say? Moritz has a type,” Martha teased.

 

Moritz just groaned at that, dropping his head into his hands. “That was a long time ago,” he muttered.

 

“Ernst, I am _so_ glad you said that. It’s been too long since I’ve teased Melchi about it. You’re right. He absolutely is,” Ilse smirked.

 

“Well go on then,” Moritz prompted, resurfacing. “Give your assessment or whatever.”

 

Ernst shrugged. “He looks like reads Shakespeare for fun, which I think is kind of a step up for you.”

 

“Roast me.”

 

“I didn’t mean like _that_.”

 

Moritz couldn’t even be mad. It was impossible to be mad at Ernst and it there was no way he could be with Martha and Ilse laughing next to him.

 

“Guys,” Ilse managed, amidst her laughter, “He once read _On The Road_ for fun. All the way through!”

 

“How the hell did he … you know what, I don’t want to know.”

 

“Next you’re going to tell me he has a copy of Keats on him at all times,” Ernst mused.

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“Not anymore!”

 

***

 

Ilse was somehow managing to balance her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she shuffled in her bag for her apartment key. With her luck, it would probably be all the way at the bottom and she knew it would be absolutely frustrating to find. The phone beeped for longer than she thought it should have before it finally started ringing. She knew it was late but even with his incredible amount of sleep deprivation, Melchior still managed to answer within a few rings, just as she managed to wrestle her door open.

 

“Ilse, I really hope this is important,” he said. She could practically see him still in the theatre, slumped over his notes and running his hands through his hair in frustration at the one tiny little thing that wasn’t working out right. She could hear how tired he was.

 

“You’re feisty when you’re tired,” she teased.

 

“You know me so well.” His tone was so flat but she could still hear the smile in his voice. “No but really did you need something?”

 

“A few things. Firstly, I was reminded of something today.” Ilse pushed the door closed behind her. She tossed her eyes into her bag and headed quickly for her bedroom, dropping her bag to the floor as she reached the doorway. 

 

“Yeah? Of what?”

 

“Just your high ranking status as a pretty boy,” she smirked, flopping down on her bed.

 

Melchior sighed in response and it took a lot for her not to laugh. “I’m grateful that you’re reminding me of a reputation I’ve tried so hard to shake off,” he said.

 

“Hey, you know you’ll always be more than your looks to me.”

 

“Ok, ok. Well, my turn to ask you something now.”

 

Ilse pulled absently at the zipper of her hoodie as she waited for Melchior to continue.

 

“It’s Wednesday tomorrow.”

 

“Glad you’re keeping track.”

 

A sharp intake of breath. “I really need you tomorrow. We’re gonna start working with the costumes and I really think it would be good if you were there.”

 

“Then I’m there,” she smiled.

 

A pause. “Thank you, Ilse,” he muttered, voice softer. “Really.”

 

“No need. How’s everything going? Did you fix that sound problem thing you were telling me about before?”

 

“Yeah, Georg managed to somehow. We had to move a few props around and work on closing doors and not slamming them.”

 

“That’s great, Melchi.”

 

“Uh, if you get a chance …” he trailed off.

 

“Hmm?” she prompted.

 

“If you get a chance feel free to tell Moritz that he did great today.”

 

Ilse smirked at that. “You think he does great everyday,” she reminded.

 

“It’s true,” he defended.

 

“I know. He’s a prodigy, truly.”

 

“I think I have a problem” he said.

 

“A boy problem?” she asked.

 

“I think I might like him.”

 

Ilse paused for a moment. She covered the phone with her free hand as if somehow just the force of her smile would be able to reach Melchior. “Well,” she replied, “it’s probably a good thing to like your lead actor.”

 

“Don’t patronise me.”

 

“Melchi, sweetheart, it wounds me that you think I would.”

 

***

 

Wednesday started in a beautiful blaze of glory. Ilse arrived much earlier than she said she would which gave her a chance to look over everyone’s costumes and familiarise herself with them in case anyone needed any minor adjustments. There weren’t a lot of details involved, having such a low budget, and she definitely wanted to fix that as soon as she could. Melchior’s play deserved more than incredibly casual attire that they’d managed to get a hold of. Wendla opted to do everyone’s make-up and brought the largest collection of beauty products that a lot of them had seen. She said that she didn’t mind doing everyone’s, that she actually found it quite calming. So slowly everyone got their costumes on, with Ilse helping with any alternations, and their makeup done. The broken lights were being fixed in the process and everything started to fall into place for a great batch of rehearsals. There was just one problem that Melchior hadn’t been expected, or planned for at all. He was sure it had been Wendla’s idea, but Moritz was wearing eyeliner and he was finding it incredibly difficult to keep his eyes off him. He knew that he shouldn’t be distracted by it. Surely it didn’t make much of a difference from his usual appearance, but somehow Melchior was transfixed by it, and he knew that was going to become a problem.

 

“How you going, big guy?” Ilse beamed, resting her hand on the back of Melchior’s shoulder. They were taking a short break, the actors milling around as the crew set the stage for the next scene. It was truly incredible watching how far they’d come in just four short weeks.

 

“Strike me dead where I stand,” Melchior replied, his eyes not leaving Moritz, who was laughing and talking to Thea and Melitta.

 

Ilse patted his back three times in a customary ‘there, there’ gesture. “Melchi, you need two things. Firstly, a good night sleep for once. I mean seriously, I will lock you in my apartment if I have to. Also, you need to stop being so fucking dramatic.”

 

He just nodded.

 

“Ok, three things. You need to stop eyeing Moritz. He can be oblivious but he’s going to notice, and it’s starting to get creepy,” she explained.

 

That seemed to startle him, a jolt ran up his spine and he finally looked over at her. “You’re right,” he said.

 

“Flattery with get you nowhere,” she teased.

 

“It’s just -” his eyes slid in Moritz’s direction.

 

Ilse clicked her fingers in front of his face, bringing his attention back to her again. “Stop. Looking. At. Him.”

 

“I’m being so unprofessional,” he muttered, horrified.

 

“Unprofessional?” she smiled. “Gosh, Melchi, never change.”

 

“Maybe I’m going insane.”

 

Ilse took a deep breath, holding in a laugh because Melchior’s eyes had gone wide and he somehow looked so much younger, more naive than usual. As well as entirely shaken to his core. She’d forgotten what he was like when he had a crush. “You’re stressed. You’re not crazy,” she reassured.

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“You know I’m right.”

  


***

 

“So when’s the wedding?”

 

Moritz looked up as Wendla came and sat next to him, swinging her legs of the side of the stage and looking far more smug than he had ever seen her. “I’m sorry?” he muttered, confused.

 

Wendla’s smile only grew and he wondered if there was something that he’d missed. She leaned closer to him, bumping her shoulder against his. “Well,” she started, voice much quieter than before as if this conversation was now a secret. “You didn’t hear this from me but Melchior can’t seem to take his eyes off you today. More than usual that is.”

 

Moritz had no idea what she could have meant. Surely she couldn’t be right? He scanned the room quickly and found Melchior standing with Otto and Georg. They couldn’t have been talking about anything to do with the play because they were all laughing. “Wait … more than usual?” he asked, his attention returning to the girl next to him.

 

Wendla looked at him for a moment. She seemed perplexed. “You mean you haven’t noticed?”

 

“Noticed what?”

 

Her eyebrows were practically knitted together now. Moritz suddenly realised what she was implying.

 

“Oh,” he said.

 

She laughed, leaning against him. “Like I said,” she teased. “You didn’t hear this from me, but you could have heard it from anyone.”

 

“I,um,” he hesitated, unsure what to say. His eyes found Melchior again and he swallowed absently, nerves tugging at him insistently. “I know you have no reason to lie to me, but I don’t think I can believe you.”

 

“That’s ok,” she shrugged. “Maybe you can find your own proof. You might want to be subtle about it though. Not that Melchior is being subtle, but I think you could probably pull it off.”

 

“Thanks for telling me, I guess.”

 

***

 

Thursday and Friday went by in a blur of dress rehearsals and final touches and before they all knew it they were staring opening night in the face. The stage was set and the majority of the cast were milling around in the lobby, talking to family members and friends that had managed to make it. Melchior had never been more nervous in his life. He was standing next to Ilse as she waited increasingly impatiently for her friends to get there. She was practically bouncing in place, eyes scanning every which way to try and spot them. Melchior wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling but he thought it might just be sort of numb. Maybe that was fine. That way he wouldn’t be consumed with nerves. Hell, he wouldn’t even be on stage that night. He wondered how everyone else was feeling.

 

“There they are!” Ilse beamed, pointing ahead as Martha, Ernst and Hanschen came into view. Once they spotted her they practically rushed over, Martha and Ernst automatically crushing her in a hug.

 

“This is so exciting!” Ernst said.

 

“Where’s Moritz?” Martha asked, pulling away first.

 

“He’s hiding at the moment. Trying to shake off some nerves,” Ilse explained. “He’ll probably be out later, but just for a few minutes.”

 

Ernst, Martha and Ilse kept chatting and Melchior looked up at Hanschen. He was exactly how he remembered him to be in high school, stoic and with an air of superiority.

 

“Hanschen,” he greeted, nodding.

 

“Melchior,” he replied.

 

“It was nice of you to come.”

 

There was a moment where neither of them said anything. Melchior could feel the numbness starting to fade and time inched closer to opening. People started making their way into the theatre and he could see a few of the cast members looking over at him out of the corner of his eye.

 

Hanschen extended his hand. “It’s nice to see that we both made it,” he said.

 

Melchior just looked at him for a moment, shocked to say the least. And incredibly touched. He shook Hanschen’s still outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he muttered.

 

“I’m looking forward to the play.”

 

“I’m not going inside without hugging Moritz first,” Martha announced, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

 

“Melchior, we should be heading backstage,” Ilse reminded.

 

Melchior scanned the room quickly. He found Moritz next to Wendla. His friends seemed to see him at the same time because they all rushed over, Martha and Ernst crushing him in hugs that he looked a little uncomfortable to receive, before making their way inside.

 

***

 

Backstage was absolutely chaotic. The cast was shaking off nerves, muttering last minute lines and checking their makeup as the crew quickly rushed around them, trying to make sure that everything was in order. They only had minutes left before the curtain rose and as Melchior looked around at them all he realised that he had something to say.

 

“Can everyone circle up for a minute?” he asked.

 

They were all quick to comply, Ilse coming to rest on the right side of him and everyone else falling into place in their little circle.

 

“I know that we had a bit of a rough start,” he continued, “and I appreciate how all of you stuck by this place and by me. I used to think that this was something that I made but I’ve realised through this whole process that this play has become something that _we_ built. All of us. We built this thing from scratch and fought tooth and nail for it to work and I am … so thankful for you all, and so proud of how far this has come.” He paused for a moment, making eye contact with everyone in the circle. “I probably haven’t told you that enough which isn’t fair but I hope it’s something you know anyway. Something that you can feel. Everyone here has put everything that they have into this play and I can’t wait for you all to go out there and show all your friends and families what you’ve made. I have … the utmost faith in every single one of you, and I know that you’re going to nail this. Break a leg everyone.”

 

There was a cheer and then Ilse called for them to take their places. Melchior took a deep breath. He didn’t think he was very good at pep talks. Rants he could do, but he’d never been put in a position where he had to encourage people before. He hoped that it worked. Everyone seemed pretty excited, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of what he’d said or the thrill of opening night. He didn’t think that it really mattered.

 

“Look at you getting all emotional,” Ilse beamed, watching as the cast all quickly rushed to their places.

 

“Mocking me is beneath you,” he muttered.

 

She laughed, nudging him gently. “Relax, Melchi. I’m not mocking you. I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

 

He did now. “Thanks.”

 

Melchior knew that really the two of them should be in the audience at this point, but he was finding himself to be rooted to the ground. Maybe he just wanted to watch from back here, to be amongst it all. The play started and he was finding himself close to tears for reasons that he couldn’t seem to understand. Pride? Relief? It was probably a mixture of both.

 

“They’re all doing amazing,” Ilse smiled.

 

“Of course they are.” His voice was slightly higher than usual, an effect of trying to fight back tears.

 

Ilse couldn’t help but smile at that. She took a step closer to him, resting her hand on the back of his shoulder. “That was a good speech, by the way,” she said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

The two of them paused for a moment, transfixed by what was happening on stage. Then Ilse took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something about Moritz.”

 

“What about him?” Melchior asked, watching as he nailed every single line of dialogue that he was delivering.

 

“Before you cast him in this he was about to leave New York. He had everything packed and he was going to head back to live with his parents.”

 

Melchior looked over at her, confused as to why she was telling him this to begin with.

 

“He hadn’t been able to hold down a role in months and I think his confidence was shattered. Martha, Ernst and I, well, and Hanschen, we were trying to convince him to stay but he was sure that he was a burden on us. Especially Martha, because they live together. I guess what I’m trying to say Melchior, is that I’m so glad you came back to New York and found me in that bar, because you saved him, and I won’t be able to thank you enough for that. You'll never know just how much that means to us.”

 

***

 

The performance was a success and they managed to earn themselves a standing ovation. Whether that was because the audience was full of their friends and families or not didn’t matter to them as they stood and took their bows. Wendla dashed off-stage quickly, pulling Melchior out with them and encouraging him to take a bow as well. He somehow managed to while being so overwhelmed that he was _sure_ he was going to cry this time. Especially when the entire cast practically jumped on him in a group hug (that was course was started but Wendla and Melitta). Melchior had never been more happy in his than in that moment. He could feel it.

 

Somehow all of them ended up at Hanschen’s bar afterwards because of course they were deserving of a celebration, a feeling of complete elation encompassing them all. All of their hard work over the last month had started to pay off, and hopefully they’d wake up the next morning to some good reviews. Not that it would matter, they were all just so happy that the show went so well. Melchior had half a mind to remind everyone that they probably shouldn’t drink too much that night, since they had another show the next night as well and being hungover for it probably wasn’t the best idea, but he had enough faith that they would know how to handle themselves. As a lot of them started to make their way to the dance floor he headed over to the bar. He wasn’t much of a drinker, so he stuck with one drink and slowly swivelled it around in his glass. Ilse had come and talked to him for a bit but then Martha pulled her to the dance floor as well. Now he was by himself, and truly he didn’t quite mind it. He could hear some of the cast members, even from here and the feeling of joy seemed to be sticking around for him as well.

 

“Melchi,” a voice muttered.

 

Melchior turned to look at Moritz, he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his features. “Hey, Moritz,” he said. “You were amazing tonight.”

 

“Thanks.” Moritz was shuffling his feet, not quite looking up at Melchior and he seemed to be quite nervous.

 

Melchior wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say, but he knew that he wanted to say _something_. “So Martha hasn’t pulled your to the dance floor yet?” he asked.

 

Moritz shrugged. “Not much of a dancer.”

 

“Did you want to sit down?”

 

“Did you want me to?”

 

Melchior nodded and Moritz took the seat next to him. “I wanted to talk to you actually,” he said, courage seeming to spark.

 

“Yeah?”

 

He nodded, turning in his chair slightly and resting a hand on Moritz’s knee. Moritz’s eyes widened and Melchior felt him freeze under his hand. For a second, he panicked, but didn't move his hand. “I was talking to Ilse before and she told me something about you,” he explained.

 

“Can’t have been very interesting. There’s not much to be said about me,” he shrugged.

 

“She told me about how you were ready to leave New York. You know, a month ago.”

 

Moritz hesitated, twisted the sleeves of his jacket around his hands and avoided Melchior’s eyes. “Why would she tell you about that?” he muttered.

 

“She didn’t tell me any details, just that you were thinking about moving back home.”

 

“I was.”

 

Melchior leaned closer to him. “She said that because I cast you in this play and everything that I saved you.”

 

Moritz didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed, that Ilse was right. Of course, it was rare for there to be an occasion where she was wrong.

 

“I, um,” Melchior hesitated, suddenly nervous. “I wanted to tell you that by being in this play … you sort of saved me too.”

 

There was absolutely no way that that was a real sentence that actually came out of Melchior’s mouth, but as Moritz looked up at him, he could see just how _honest_ he was being. Moritz could feel his heart rate starting to pick at what something like that could possibly mean and realised that what Wendla was implying in rehearsal a few days ago must have been true. Moritz swallowed and Melchior moved his hand from his knee.

 

“Can I buy you a drink, Moritz?” he asked.

 

Moritz was sure that he must have been shaking by now, and if he was that that must have been incredibly weird for Melchior, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or, if he had noticed, he didn’t seem to care. Moritz looked up at him again, feeling sort of like he was on fire but in the best way possible, and nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> Have I ever told you how much I love the friendship between Ilse and Melchior? Because let tell you, it's not explored nearly enough and I Adore them. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! You can come and hit me up on Tumblr, I'm over at potter-awakening


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